The Dead Sea & The Crimson Tide

 My wife walked in the kitchen, tossed  me a brochure, and said to, “We’ve waited long enough, and now it’s time. I want to go to the Holy Land.”  

That’s great!”, I responded. “We’re finally going to Scotland so I can play golf?”

She gave me a stare that reminded me of my Mom when she caught me drinking milk from the carton. and said, “No, you idiot. A group from our church is going to Israel and I signed us up.”  

I knew this has always been a bucket list for her even though it wasn’t for me. Still, she not only committed us, but put down some earnest money.  So, despite my protests, we headed to the a part of the world I have never been before. I did ask about taking my golf clubs, but that went over like bringing Krispy Kreme donuts to a Weight Watchers meeting. 

Israel is a great country to visit if you are an American. Lots of people speak English, they take dollars, and the cultures kind of mesh.  For example, one of the first things I saw was an armed Israeli soldier playing Candy Crush on her phone. Still, it wasn’t Scotland. 

However, my opinion of the trip changed the next morning when I  pulled the curtain back from the hotel window. There before me was the sun rising over the Sea of Galilee. There is no doubt that Jesus and his disciples looked on a sunrise just like this one 2,000 years ago. That thought humbled me. I converted faster than Saul on the road to Damascus.  By mid-day, I was sitting in the front of the tour bus, peppering our guide with questions, and taking copious notes. 

One of the ladies in our group who had been to Israel before, saw the transformation in me.  Pulling me aside, she said, “You used to read the Bible in black and white - but after this trip, you’ll read it in color.” What a perfect description.

I learned that you have to play the percentages when you visit a holy site. Everything is thousands of years old, which makes it difficult to be 100% sure that it’s authentic.  However, there are usually several archeological and historical clues that make the odds of certain places being the “real thing” very high.  

The Basilica of The Agony is such a place. It’s a church built on the Mount of Olives where Jesus prayed and was arrested. Our tour guide was quick to point out the  2,000 year-old olive trees adjacent to the building, saying,”if this isn’t the spot, it’s very close to here.”  Then she pulled me aside and gestured to the walls of the ancient city of Jerusalem, which rose high above a deep valley. 

“See that gate in the distance, Joe?”

I nodded. 

“That is almost certainly the gate the Pharisees came from to get Jesus. He surely watched the torches from their procession as they approached this  spot.”

I stood in silence and tears welled up in my eyes. My goosebumps had goosebumps. 

After one evening meal, a couple of us  got the okay from our guide to take a stroll thru the old city. We passed through an ancient gate and entered another world. All the shops were closed, so our walk took on a dark, mysterious feeling. We continued weaving through the narrow, winding streets until we turned a corner, and there it was. Standing before us, in the middle of this ancient city, on the very streets where Jesus Christ walked, just a stone’s throw from the single most important event in the history of mankind, was a store with a large sign that said, “Alabama - Heart of Dixie”.  The words were flanked by a large crimson A. 

What was this doing here?  I blinked three or four times, not believing what I was seeing. This place belonged on University Boulevard in Tuscaloosa, not on a side street in Jerusalem. I know several people who want to make Nick Saban a saint, but this is crazy. I would’ve been less surprised to find a Bass Pro Shop in Times Square. 

We carefully marked the location and  vowed to come back. I had to know the story behind this place. The first thing the next morning, we zipped down to the store, where I walked past a display of jewelry, artifacts, and an autographed photo of Coach Saban. Finally, I found someone standing behind a counter. 

I got right to the point.  “Hello sir, I saw your store yesterday and wanted to know why…uh, it’s here.  I graduated from The University of Alabama.”

The gentleman smiled broadly, extended his hand, and in his Middle Eastern accent, said, “Welcome!  My name is Hani Imam, class of ‘94. Roll Tide!”

“Roll Tide,” I responded weakly. I was still trying to process this bizarre sequence of events. 

As if on cue, Hani said, “I went to Alabama, and lived in Tuscaloosa for 10 years. It was great.  So when I came back here, I decided to open a shop and name it after the place that I loved so.” 

Satisfied with his explanation, We began talking about the school, specifically football. He was surprisingly knowledgeable. Well, maybe not surprisingly. After a decade in T-Town, almost anyone would be asking why we didn’t throw to the tight end. 

I couldn’t help but notice that one of our travel companions, a rabid Auburn fan, was glaring at both of us.  I finished my conversation with Hani,  bought some T shirts that were sure to impress my friends, and headed out the door. I had no more stepped on the sidewalk when she joined me, and said with disgust, “Of all the things. I just can’t believe that there’s an Alabama store in Jerusalem.”

I smiled and responded,  “Why do you think it’s called the Holy City?”

Even 6,000 miles away from home, it’s still fun to aggravate your biggest rival.